


Miracle of life

by Cirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguing, Attempt at Humor, Childbirth, F/M, Family Drama, Fishing, Married Life, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: The joys of a married life





	Miracle of life

**Author's Note:**

> A scene shamelessly stolen from Poldark series, shaped so to fit Silm reality better.

Arriving home, Fëanáro felt an unidentified slight prod of premonition. Nothing seemed wrong at first glance, servants came and went, a groom took the reins from him. He frowned but discarded the feeling and stepped inside. Maybe Nerdanel was right telling him he was too suspicious.

He pulled out the necklace he did for her, that should smooth the atmosphere after their latest quarrel and get out of her head the idea of setting out to the shores for the pearls by herself. The gems weren’t exactly what she wanted but moonstones covered with a thin, almost opaque layer of mithril did make a striking view and Fëanáro, satisfied with his work himself, thought she shall be pleased.

He headed straight to her workshop, the most likely place to find her into, when he realized what struck him at the arrival: the lack of constant hammering sound as the chisel carved the marble.

"Nerdanel?" he called into the halls.

He repeated louder, when no answer came. Still no reply.

Checking the workshop, the bedroom, the hearth hall (in that sequence) also didn’t bring any results.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë were nowhere in sight, but that was to be expected, surely one chasing through the woods with the dogs or some other animals, the other occupying the forge.

"She went out," informed him his fourth son with a shrug, sitting buried in one of the armchairs so deeply emerged in the shadows Fëanáro only now noticed him.

"What? How could you let her?" The exclamation was directed at no one in particular but it was Maitimo who answered, peering into the room with his other brother lingering in his shadow.

"Sorry, dad. We tried to stop her but she didn’t listen."

"Did she tell where she was going?" asked Fëanáro, hoping against reason this was just some social call and not what he explicitly forbid her…

"No," said Maitimo.

"I think somewhere along the seaside," put in Makalaurë. "She did mention something about pearls."

Fëanáro cursed and run out, surprising and probably scaring one of the stables’ lads as he tore the reins from him, hopping on the Rochwyn and galloping out of the courtyard.

He heard her before he saw her, a scream unsuccessfully stifled into the whimper. He whispered in his horse’s ear to hasten yet.

When the dunes revealed the sight, it was just as bad as he expected. His wife, a wellborn, respectable Mahtan’s daughter, by marriage a Princess of the Noldor, now in advanced pregnancy, was at the sea in a single small white boat, trying and failing to paddle back to the shore. She must have been in the middle of the pearl fishing when the birth started.

Suppressing his raging thoughts and temper for a moment Fëanáro rushed into the coastal waves. His breeches and tunic got wet and clung to his body immediately, limiting his movements. He reached the boat slower than he would have liked.

"I told you something about sailing out in your condition!" He thundered at her, shouting over the roar of water, gripping the wet wood of the starboard. "It is dangerous! What if Ossë had a worse mood? You’re unreasonable!"

Nerdanel looked briefly relived when she spotted him but at his words her face turned as red as her hair from anger and she did not fall behind in the shouting:

"Who’s talking about reason?! If you’d listened me at least once to keep the safety measures in the forge that I ask you for! If you’d for once not ruin a social event of your father only because of your childish aversion to Fingolfin! If you’d start to address the Valar more respectfully!"

"This is different!" Fëanáro’s hands grasped the wood tighter, muscles tensed fighting with the strength of Ossë, whose waters threw the boat up and down wildly. "If I endanger someone, it is only myself; you risk the safety of our unborn son as well!"

"Son?! How can you know it would be another son?! The five of them cause enough havoc in the palace as it is!"

"That’s not what I meant," Fëanáro’s tone grew gentler as he tried to just grab his wife’s waist, discarding the idea of hauling the whole boat ashore, "of course it may be a girl as well."

But Nerdanel, now more furious than him, her red hair flowing around her like angry flames, did not let him touch her, twisting out of his reach.

"It may be?!" she shouted at him, "it may be?! Good to know. How generous of you that you’ll accept the child even if it would turn out to be a girl!"

"This is not what I meant!"

"But this is how you sounded!"

They stared at each other like two predators about to tear each other’s throats. A flare of grey like molten silver locked with the toughness and stubbornness of a rock, while Ossë splashed them with increasingly higher waves as if drew into the quarrel, wishing to join it.

It was Fëanáro who broke the impasse, sighing, willing his anger to subside, though it still glowered like coals in the forge’s hearth.

"Perhaps we shall postpone this argument for another time and now you’d just come with me to the shore before you’ll give birth right here in the boat?"

Nerdanel still bristled but the birth contraction seized her and her face contorted in pain for a moment before it faded. Fëanáro, now more concerned than angry, swept her temporarily weakened body toward him. She let him take her into his arms and pull out of the boat, the little ship left to its own fate, as he carried her toward the shore.

Nerdanel’s anger did not abide as quickly as the pain, though, and halfway to the coast she yelled anew:

"Arrgh, I’m so angry at you! I wish I could hit you!"

"By all means," said Fëanáro, calmer now as he held the most precious persons in his life, his wife and their unborn child, close to his chest, "after you give a birth to our child." This time he was more careful with the word choice.

 

* * *

 

 

Few hours later it turned out to be not a son, but two sons joining the royal family.


End file.
